


Gin Rummy

by Plouton



Category: One Piece
Genre: Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plouton/pseuds/Plouton
Summary: The sea is vast, a patchwork of cerulean. This is a story only of a woman potential. Her feet have never returned from the shore, though she longs for her story to unfold amongst the swell of the ocean.





	Gin Rummy

Gin Rummy

A story only of a woman’s potential. The wave has not yet broken.

***

“Skeleton Atoll is a misnomer. A remnant name from a time long gone, when giant monsters with faces like bird skulls used to thrive. The first visitors used to disappear in the night, one at a time. Picked off by monster’s unseen except for the reflection cast by dying firelight on bone white beaks.” The bartender tells her enthralled audience, absentmindedly smoothing teal fly always back into her ponytail.

The merchants crowd close, nursing mugs of ale and now a vague sense of fear in their hearts. They were new to town, having just sailed in this afternoon. They had hoped to sell some of their wares and restock before heading out the following day. And thus, having completed the necessary transactions, been directed to the only tavern in town.

She was an interesting place. An old looking wooden building painted only with green accents built on an isolated dock at the edge of the harbour. A small rope bridge was the only access point back onto the deck. The small veranda housed a few chairs and tables and jasmine vines grew over the railing, held up by hand built planters. The sloped roof looked vaguely asymmetrical, though didn’t hint a habit of leaking. A sign hung off a metal post extending from the veranda that read “A Hop, Skip, and a Scotch” in peeling gold letters. 

The small crew of men had trundled in, weary after a full day of work and were well met by the cheerful bartender. She was plucky and charming, with a straight toothed smile and a sharp look in her honeyed eyes. They liked her immediately. An hour later and they sat, stools pulled in a tight circle around the bar, with full bellies and cheeks tinted pink with liquor while the bartender spun her tale.

“They say these monsters were clever, more so than your average beast. No matter how hard the visitors tried, in the morning, a body would be missing. They hunted the watchmen on silent talons and left no signs behind. They would open locked doors, leave behind nothing. Not even a drop of blood. In the daylight, ventures into the jungles would be made to try hunt the beasts in return, but the forest is a dangerous place,” she pauses to refill the merchants’ mugs. “There are many creatures in the forests, large cats with tusks as well as teeth, carnivorous plants, and wasps the size of fruit bats. They never found their skeleton birds.” She leaned forward, bracing her weight on her forearms.

The door to the kitchen swung open suddenly, startling the men. One, a young man just barely entered in adulthood with just a hint of ginger peach fuzz on his chin jumped to his feet with a howl, much to his chagrin when he realised it was just the young cook who had brought them their food earlier.

She was small and nonthreatening with soft pink hair hidden under a bandana and brilliant blue eyes. She started in response to the sudden action and dropped her rag. “Sorry,” she mumbled. A hand swiped out to pick up the cloth and she quickly hurried to clean the now abandoned table when the merchants had left their plates.

The bartender’s lips quirked in amusement and the let the audience compose themselves before continuing. “Despite the hazard, humans are inherently dumb creatures, and will live anywhere there’s space for them. And so the small settlement expanded into a small village. One night, a particularly smart watchman thought he spotted something in the underbrush. Instead of investigating he set up a trap for the monster, and placed a straw man in his place. He hid under a tarp and waited, and waited, and waited. Hours ticked by and the oil in the lantern started running low. Finally, through the thinnest of cracks between the tarp and the watchtower floor he saw the claws. The skeleton bird was completely silent as it stalked up behind the straw man, never suspecting it was being hunted as well.” She grew quiet, her voice barely a whisper. The men leaned in. They hang onto every perilous word.

BANG! The men jump in unison. The woman’s hand smack the bar top, a victorious grin on her freckled face. “He struck!”

“His spear, sharpened thinner than a blade of grass, cut through the tarp and met the flesh on the other side!” She makes a sound like a knife swinging through the air. One of the men banged his mug on the counter with a happy hoot.

“The skeleton twisted away from the decoy, enraged, bone white teeth under the mask retaliate. But the watchman is to quick! He slides closer to the beast along its flank where the teeth can’t reach him and he digs the spear in deeper, before slicing through the muscle and sinew of the creature. The skeleton met its fate that night. It collapsed on the watchtower, and looking up, saw the face of death. And death was a human.” The woman grins at them.

“They Sseleton birds haven’t been spotted on the island since that night. They are clever beasts, after all. And anyone clever would never go back to a place the die,” She chuckles with the audience. “It’s a good thing people were never that clever, otherwise we wouldn’t have such a beautiful town here now, with such a good tavern, and such good ale.”

“Here, here!” The men raise their glasses and take a collective swig.

“And the name never changed?” The youngest man asks.

The bartender shakes her head, “Skeleton Atoll became the name recognised and shared by visitors and recorded by cartographers. By the time the skeleton birds were driven away, there were already too well commemorated.”

She pauses, rocking back slightly on her heels and crosses her arms. The cook slides carefully behind her holding another tray of drinks for a table of locals.

“I suppose the ocean is like that. There are lots of badly named places, many with a good story to go along with them though. I’ve heard of a ‘Cactus Island’, supposedly named after a giant graveyard on the mountains that makes them look like giant cacti.”

“Really? Why are there so many graves?” One man asks, thick eyebrows creased.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard the whole tale yet, but I’ll tell you when I hear it. Next time you’re here, ok? Remember: A Hop, Skip and a Scotch, the best ales and tales to better your weary night.”

She excuses herself to start pouring drinks again as the late night locals start filing in through the heavy green doors. The men - satisfied, full, and drunk – retreat to their ship for the night.

They depart early the next day, never the wiser that while they got a tale from the bartender, she had also gotten a tale from them.

Crew members: Neill Johnson, Mazzello Reo, Kaito Kazashi, and Captain Marlebrough.

Ship: Seagull’s Folly

Defences: A single 6lb carronade, minimal combat ability

Cargo: $600,000 belli worth of fabrics

She didn’t think it was a particularly interesting story, but on the high seas, knowledge is power and this barkeeps trade.

Lucy worked hard.

Every morning she would push open the heavy green doors of the Hop, Skip, and a Scotch to begin the day anew.

Her routine was simple and satisfying. First she would throw open the windows and air out the smell of stale alcohol from the night before and let the warm ocean air into the tavern. Then she would carefully go about the room, collecting broken glasses, righting chairs, and straightening tables. She would go to the kitchen and collect a clean rag and a bucket of soapy water to start wiping down any sticky spots of spilled drink. When she felt the tables were clean enough to eat off and the chairs looked nice and polished, Lucy would fetch a new bucket of water and a mop. She would mop the floor under her eccentric boss came back from the morning markets, loaded with fresh produce and alcohol to replenish the tavern’s stock.

Lucy thought (though she was paid very nicely not to) that her boss must have been the daughter of a pirate. No one else Lucy’d ever met in the small town swindled, lied, drank, and fought quite like her. No one yearned for the horizons like her either.

Rummy was the local town enigma, a puzzle Lucy only wished she had all the pieces to.

Lucy heard the story of the girl, only a hair older then herself, long before she met her. Apparently a woman sailing under a jolly roger dropped her on the docks one day with nothing but a name and never came back for her. No one really knows if this is true, but Lucy likes this version best. She’s well read, so she knows that most children in her stories die in destitution when abandoned on a dock with no carer, but Rummy seemed to thrive.

Nearly ten years later Rummy managed to gamble the deed for the only tavern in town out of the hands of Old Man Mallory. Rummy ruined the man’s life that day, and the story goes he sailed out of town on the next passing by boat and drowned himself in the sea. Lucy’s never heard Rummy confirm or deny this, which is a bit heartless, but Rummy always says “All’s fair in love and poker,” which can’t have been the original saying. Though it fits well on the lips of the gambling woman. 

It’s an unusual expression, and the barkeep is full of them. Lucy tries not to get too caught up in it, so she goes to work day after day, keeps her head down, and doesn’t ask too many stupid questions. After all, Rummy pays her well.

“I’m back!” Lucy looks to the door to find her petite boss stepping through the door, arms laden with food supplies, and a large keg balanced on her shoulder. She pushes another in front of her with a booted foot.

“Good morning Miss Rummy,” Lucy chirps, propping the mop against a table and moving to assist the woman.

“It is a good morning indeed today,” Rummy says handing her a crate of fresh veggies. “A new ship just sailed in!” Her eyes crinkle excitedly.

Rummy loves visitors. More so than anyone else in the town, who would really rather be left along by pirates and marines alike. Since working at the tavern, Lucy’s appreciation for the wandering ships has grown considerably.

Even if the ships carry bad men, Rummy’s made sure she’s never had a bad experience with them. The bartender always closes the kitchen before anyone gets too rowdy, and she doesn’t require Lucy be nice to the customers all the time, so if one gropes her Lucy is perfectly allowed to pull the pistol she hides under her apron.

When the ships carry good folk, however, the stories they bring with them are always amazing to hear. Rummy soaks them up like a sea sponge, and Lucy’s grown to like hearing the tales too, even if they seem outrageous and farfetched.

“Merchants?” Lucy asks, following her boss to the kitchen.

Remy shakes her head teal braid swishing. “Guess again!”

Lucy rolls her eyes, an action she’d never let her boss see, “I hope it’s marines then. The last time we had pirates here they broke six chairs. _Six_!”

Rummy chuckles, “I won’t make you fix them this time.”

Lucy groans, placing the box on the centre counter.

“Oh don’t look so worried! Those doe eyes stop even the meanest of men in their tracks!” Rummy flicks one of Lucy’s round cheeks. “Now get to work, I’ll finish setting up the store front, and you can prep back here. I have a feeling we’re in for a big night!” With that the woman turned on her heel, and still balancing the keg on her shoulder, flounced back to the store front.

Lucy shakes her head, only partially in fondness for the other girl. “A pirate will be the death of her.” She runs a hand through short pink locks. At the end of the day, she’d be ok if a pirate never knocked on the tavern door ever again. Even if they did bring gold for payment. But Rummy is a different breed, and she revels in the cacophony carried by men as free as the pirates who sail through.

Perhaps someday, or in a parallel universe, the wanderlust that tingles down Rummy’s spine will be satiated. A crew (maybe with pirates, but Lucy hopes Rummy has better sense then that) will dock at Skeleton Atoll and whisk the reckless barmaid off her feet and out to sea with all the force of a powerful rip curl.

In the end, the ocean will always claim the spirits and bodies she craves.

It’s a good thing, Lucy decides, that Rummy is an excellent swimmer.

***

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who actually read this little writing exercise. Maybe one day I'll expand on Rummy's story.
> 
> Really all I wanted was to create a character that could be so much more if she met the right (or wrong) people, because surely not everyones OC will meet the Strawhats, or the Whitebeards, or the red haired pirates and find love or adventure. Sometime, all you can be is what you are.


End file.
